


Encore

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: Uncomfortable with being heralded as a war hero, Severus joyfully bestowed their five sons with his wife's name...after all, Granger was a war hero and a Ministry starlet; what more could you wish for in a surname?





	1. Voldemort's Followers

**Author's Note:**

> A mash of two prompts, really: Severus is married with lots of kids and Snape is haunted by his past.

Rory undid his ponytail, releasing his shoulder length curls, and dropped onto his neatly made bed.  He glanced over at his younger brother, who was sat on his own bed, his duvet and sheets in complete disarray, surrounded by open books and loose parchment.  “So? What did they say?”

“I’m changing it.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

Fox impatiently tapped his quill against his ink pot, and glanced at his older – more handsome, more muscular, more successful – brother.  “I chose not to speak with them.  There’s nothing to discuss.”

Rory groaned.  “Foxy, this isn’t the way to go about it.”

“Fox.  It’s Fox.”

“Oh yeah?  Since when?”

“Since forever.  Check my birth certificate.”  Fox flicked a piece of parchment over and carried on scribbling.  “Foxy makes me sound like I’m five.”

Rory stood up and leant over, picking up one of the open textbooks.  “It is the holidays, you know?”

“Don’t lose my place!”

“I’m not,” Rory said, showing that he’d got his thumb clamped between the open pages.  “I have no idea how you work in this state, Foxy-”

“Fox.”

“You’re so messy.” Rory tapped a piece of parchment on Fox’s pillow.  “Cauldron theory?  What’s that when it’s at home?”

Fox glared at his brother and pulled the parchment away from him.  “It’s a theoretical exploration of how base metals respond to various ingredients, and which combinations yield the most advantageous results.”

“And in English?”

Fox grinned and shook his head.  “Have you even got a brain in that Quidditch filled head of yours?”

A flash of annoyance crossed Rory’s face.  “You know my OWLs were pretty hot.”

“Sure, in  _some_ subjects.”

“Yeah, well,” Rory grumbled, picking up another piece of parchment.  “I don’t know how you and Dad can stand over a cauldron all day.  It’s bori…”  He trailed off as a piece of parchment on the bed caught his eye.

Fox’s eyes widened as he saw the parchment at the same time, and both boys lunged for it.  Rory was a shade quicker, his longer arms easily able to hold the page aloft and out of reach.

“Are you kidding me?  Are you actually kidding me?”  

“Give it back!”  

“How long have you been doing this?   _Fox Snape_.  I’m not joking, Foxy, he’ll kill you when he finds out.”

“It’s Fox!  And how would he find out?”  Fox’s black eyes narrowed as he snatched the parchment back. “Going to rat on me, are you?  Our wonderful Head Boy strikes again.”

Rory sighed, watching as Fox hastily gathered his work together and thrust it haphazardly into his schoolbag, casting charms against it to secure it.  “Have you forgotten that Dad’s like that,” Rory crossed his fingers, “with Professor McGonagall?  They’re best friends.”

“Get a grip, Professor McGonagall isn’t going to see my essays.  I can’t even remember the last time I saw her outside of mealtimes.”

“And you think one of the other teachers isn’t going to dob on you?”

“Like who?”

“Professor Longbottom for a start.”

Fox scoffed.  “Since when has Dad ever cared about what Longbottom has to say?”

“Professor Longbottom, Foxy.”

“You can get his name right, but not mine?”

“Mum’ll listen to him, and trust me, Dad will care about this.”

“Whatever, Rory.”

“And Mum?  How do you think she’ll feel, eh?”

“It’s not about Mum.” A brief hint of panic coloured Fox’s features, but he quickly masked his emotions.

“No?  Like your hair wasn’t about Mum either?”

Fox instantly ran his hand across the back of his shaved head.  “It’s just a fashion.”

“A fashion forever ago, Foxy.  You can admit you just want to look like Dad.”

“My name is Fox.”  The younger boy scowled, his cheeks red. “And I don’t just want to look like Dad. It’s all right for you with your curls, but my straight hair looked stupid long.”

“Dad’s got straight hair, and he had it long when we were little.”

“And it looked stupid.” Fox licked his fingers and straightened his parting.  “The undercut looks way better.  It just looked greasy and horrible before.”  He narrowed his eyes again.  “On me and him.”

“Have those Gryffindors been getting at you again?”

“They wish.  The only Gryffindors who get at me are the twins.”

Rory laughed.  “Ha, well, Head Boy or not, I can’t do much about them.  Even Mum and Dad can’t do much about them.”

Fox grinned at his brother, pleased the topic had moved onto safer territory.  “You know Dad wrote to Professor McGonagall last term and apologised for their behaviour?”

Rory nodded.  “That was after Mum sent that Howler, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.  Thank Merlin she’s never sent one of those to me.  I swear they aged about six years in ten minutes.”

“She might send you one if she sees what you’ve written-”

“Rory, drop it.”

“On your head,” Rory said, his hands raised in defeat.  “Just, believe me, if you think Mum’s Howler to the twins was bad, it’s going to be nothing to Dad’s reaction to this.”  He leant in conspiratorially.  “And Dad’s Howlers are way way way way way worse.”

“Dad’s neve-”

“He has.  My first year,” Rory said, quietly.  “Ask anyone in the common room.”

* * *

Fox clattered down the stairs and peered into each room in turn, gripping his textbook tightly.  “Dad?  Dad?  Dad!  Can we brew?”

Severus looked up from the floor where he was sat with his youngest child nestled in his arms, pointing at pictures in a storybook.  “We can, but after Malik has gone to bed.”

“It takes six hours,” Fox whined.  “If we don’t get started-”

“Six?  Show me.”  Severus took the textbook from Fox, and glanced over the published recipe and his son’s scrawled amendments.

“It’s definitely six. I’ve already accounted for the aconite, and reduced the simmer time by addressing the-”

“Daddy?”  Malik pulled at the front of Severus’ shirt.  “Daddy, no Foxy.”

“Wait one minute, Malik, please.”  Severus said, passing the textbook back to his son.  “Your timings are correct, Fox.  Tomorrow then.”

“But I need it for tomorrow.”

“You  _need_ it for tomorrow?” Severus shifted on the uncomfortable floor, holding Malik in his arms.  “And tell me, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Meeting some friends.”

“Daddy?”

“Shhh, Malik.  Meeting some friends?  Fox, when were you intending to inform us of this?”

“Rory meets his friends-”

“I didn’t ask you about Rory, did I?  I asked you about you.”

“Daddy?”

“Just forget I asked!” Fox yelled, storming out of the room and back up the stairs.

“Fox!”

“Daddy?”

Severus sighed, and stood, carrying his youngest son in his arms.  “I think Daddy needs to have a talk with Foxy, Malik.”

“No Foxy, Daddy,” Malik repeatedly, seriously.  “Bear.”

“Bear?”  Severus looked confused, until he followed his son’s finger, pointing at the forgotten picture book.  “Ah, yes, the tales of Mr Bear.”  He bent and collected it from the floor, and made for the stairs.  “Let’s read Mr Bear in bed,” he said, shifting his son’s weight to his hip as he carried him.

“No Foxy, Daddy.”

“No,” Severus sighed, “no Foxy.”

* * *

Severus sat opposite his eldest son.  He was gripping his empty coffee cup tightly.  Rory stared at the kitchen table, not daring to look up.  When Severus finally broke the silence, his voice was dangerously low.  “You knew.”

“I didn-”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I wasn’t going to!” Rory hastily added, looking at his mum for support.

“Let him speak, love,” Hermione interjected, moving to stand behind her husband, placing her hands on his tense shoulders.

Rory took a deep breath. “I didn’t know he was going to do anything about it.”

“So you did know.”  

“Dad…”

“I thought you both understood.”

“I do understand.”

Severus gripped the cup even more tightly.  “You do, but Fox does not?”

“Severus, this is not Rory’s fault.”

“I even told him not to do it!” Rory blurted out.

“Interesting.”  Severus’ voice was cold.  “We have gone from ‘I don’t know’ to ‘I didn’t know he was going to do anything about it’ to ‘I told him not to do it’.  Tell me, Rory, which is the truth?”  

Hermione kept a firm grip on Severus, keeping him in his seat.  “You’re not angry with Rory, love.”  She looked at her son.  “He’s not angry with you, Rory.”

“I am.  He’s old enough to know better.”

“And Foxy isn’t?” Rory instantly argued back, his eyes glittering dangerously.  “If it was the twins then yeah, have a go at me!  I can be the big bad older brother where they’re concerned, but Foxy?  Foxy’s 15!”

“You’re still his olde-”

Rory scoffed.  “Forget it, Dad, he doesn’t listen to me – let’s face it, he can barely stand the sight of me these days.”

“That’s not true, Rory.”

“It is, Mum.  He’s been funny ever since I got Head Boy.”

Hermione exchanged a look with Severus.

“He booed me when it was announced in the Great Hall,” Rory continued.

“I am aware, and I have spoken to him about that,” Severus said, coolly.

“Spoken to him?  Spoken to him?  You should’ve sent him a Howler!”

Hermione suppressed a smile. “Do you think that would’ve soothed the situation between the two of you, or enflamed it, Rory?”

Rory looked down at the table again.

“Your mother asked you a question.”

“You treat him differently,” Rory said, softly.  “You sent a Howler to the twins the other week.  And I’ve lost count of how many you’ve sent me.  But not Foxy, no matter what he does.”  He looked up, and stared his father in the face.  “He’s your favourite.”

“We love you all equally,” Hermione said quickly.

“You’re all an equal pain in my posterior,” Severus agreed.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Severus drawled. He eyed his son curiously.  “You genuinely believe I favour Fox over you and your brothers?”

“Maybe not Malik,” Rory conceded.

“I don’t favour Malik,” Severus groaned.  

“You have to remember, Rory, it’s a shock for Malik when you all come home from school,” Hermione said. “He spends months with your father all by himself-”

“You’re here as well, and Malik isn’t possessive over you.”

Hermione grimaced.  “I’m here at weekends at best.  You know that I’m always at the Ministry, just as I was when you were little.  Malik is used to it just being him and your dad.”

“Besides,” Severus added, “Malik isn’t quite 3 years old.  He needs a different amount of attention – the sort of attention you all got from me when you were that age.”

Rory scoffed.  “I didn’t get treated like Malik does – you were too busy doting on little Foxy.  As always.”

Severus looked helplessly at his wife.  “I adored both of you, Rory.  I still-”

“It’s because Foxy is more like you, isn’t it?”  Rory blurted out, staring at his father intently.  “With his books and his studying and his cauldrons and his stupid spells.  You can say it, you know!  I know you think I’m like Uncle Harry-”

“Rory, that’s-”

“It’s true, Mum.  I know it’s true – I’ve heard enough from everyone over the years to know that Dad wasn’t big on Quiddit-”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear at Hogwarts,” Severus interrupted.  “I like Quidditch.”

“Yeah, sure!  You hate Quidditch, and you hate Quidditch players even more.”

“I hate playing,” Severus emphasised.  “And I admit, I didn’t much like certain Quidditch players.”

“He means your Uncle Harry,” Hermione added.

Severus shot her a glare. “But I always had time for the Slytherin players, and I loved watching Slytherin destroy Gryffindor.”  He shot another look at Hermione.  “Especially when your Uncle Harry was on the opposing team.”

“Dad…”

“For someone who supposedly hates Quidditch, has it escaped your attention that I have attended your every game?  That I have stood and cheered your every win?  That I have applauded your efforts in every loss?”  He stared back at his son evenly.  “Did I not make it clear to you how I felt when you gained the post of Head Boy?  The first legitimate Slytherin Head Boy since Lucius Malfoy?”  He leant forward.  “I am telling you, as the old Housemaster of Slytherin and as your father, I nearly burst with pride when we received the news.”

“…I wanted to make you proud of me.”

With a squeeze to her husband’s shoulder, Hermione moved around the table and embraced her eldest son. “We are both incredibly proud of you.”

“Especially after…” Rory trailed off, looking awkward. “My OWL results.”  

To his surprise, his parents shared a broad smile.   “We were not unhappy with your OWL results.  You had a good range of Os and Es, and we didn’t expect anything more.”

“Don’t forget the D.”

Severus tapped the table. “Did you think I was astonished that you gained a D?  After your reports?  After seeing you brew?”  He gave a wicked smile.  “Of course, I use the term in the loosest possible sense.”

“But I thought-”

“Had I pushed you,” Severus said, quietly, “then I believe you could’ve gained an A.  Most of my students gained As, even the very worst.”

Rory looked downcast. “Great.  So I’m worse tha-”

“What your father is saying,” Hermione interrupted, “is that he could’ve demanded your return home each night via Floo, and he could’ve tutored you so that you gained the A.  But doing so would’ve affected you in other ways. It would’ve affected your other homework, and Quidditch practice, and your friendships.”

“It was not worth your time,” Severus added.  “For what little gain you would’ve achieved, in a subject you had no interest or aptitude in, and did not require for your NEWT studies…”  He waved his hand.  “We cannot all be the same.  I outclass you with a cauldron, whilst you outclass me with a broomstick in hand.”

Hermione ruffled her son’s hair.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes.  I didn’t realise that you knew how much I hated Potions.”

“It was as plain as the nose on my face.”  Severus smiled.  “Rory, it was not my intention to blame you for Fox’s behaviour.”  He drew a deep breath.  “You are…somewhat easier to talk to than your brother.”

Rory gave a tight nod. “So you thought you’d sound me out first?”

“We thought you might be able to talk some sense into him,” Hermione said, softly.  “He looks up to you.”

Rory scoffed.  “He used to.  Not anymore.”  He tapped his fingers anxiously on the table.  “He’s been hanging out with some real…oddballs.  They’re changing him.”

“I think you are right,” Severus said, quietly, looking pained.  “Thankfully, Rory, you take after your mother.  Fox, I fear, takes after me.”

* * *

“Rory!  Come in,” Hermione beckoned her son in to her office with her free hand, as she used the other to cast with her wand, sending papers flying towards the door and window.

“It’s always a bit of a head trip visiting you here,” Rory said, taking a seat opposite his mum’s large desk, and staring at the ornate ceiling.  

“Are you expecting anyone else, ma’am?”  The auror who’d shown Rory through the Ministry was still standing on ceremony at the door.

“My husband should be here shortly,” Hermione said, in clipped tones.  “And Professor McGonagall.  Please do ensure that I am not disturbed for the next hour, Stebbins.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rory swallowed hard.  “Dad and the Headmistress?”  He looked around anxiously.  “Have I done something terrible?”

Hermione gave a short laugh, as she ruffled his long hair.  “Not at all.  Your father has a theory, and wishes for your input.”

“My input?”

“You are Head Boy of Hogwarts, are you not?”

“Well yeah,” Rory said, running his hands through his hair nervously.  “But is this a meeting with the Minister for Magic, the Headmistress of Hogwarts and a war hero, or is this a meeting with Mum, Dad and Dad’s best friend?”

Hermione sat opposite her son and smiled.  “It’s that sort of thinking which has led us to ask you here.”  The Floo roared, and both stood as Professor McGonagall entered the office, closely followed by Severus.

“Son,” Severus said, brushing off his robes and heading straight over to Rory.  “Thank you for coming.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” Rory mumbled to his father, watching as the two witches embraced each other warmly.

“That might also be true,” his father said, clapping him on his back and pulling a seat up next to him. “But I would refrain from pointing it out.  Heads don’t take kindly to such thoughts, I have learnt over the years.”

Rory flashed a grin at his father.

“And that’s really what I wanted to talk about,” Severus said, as both women were seated.

“I don’t understand?”

Severus sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his fingers steepled before his lips.  “You grinned,” he said, looking directly at Rory, “when I said Heads don’t take kindly to such thoughts.  Why?”

Rory looked panicked, staring from his father to his mother to his headteacher.  “I don’t-”

“It’s not a trick question, Rory,” Hermione said, softly.  “Your father wants to know why you found it amusing.”

“Well…”  Rory stared at McGonagall for a moment, before looking down.  “People in authority don’t tend to listen much.  You do as you’re told.  Behave how you’re expected.”

Severus nodded, a small triumphant smile appearing behind his fingers.  “But do you understand the specificity of what I said?” he pressed.

“About?”

“I said Heads.  I didn’t say that Ministers don’t give you a choice.”

“Yeah, but you don’t want to sleep on the sofa for the next week or two.”

McGonagall quickly altered her laugh into a cough, as Severus took a deep breath.  “Forget your mother.  I didn’t say that your Uncle Harry, as Head of the Auror department, didn’t take kindly to such thoughts.”

“Well, he’s not here, obviously.”

“And if he had been here, would I have said it?”

“You’d have said worse,” Rory muttered, and McGonagall laughed loudly.

“I can never decide if he is your boy, Severus,” she said, in her Scottish brogue, “or yours, Hermione.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing as Severus glared at his old colleague.  “Forget Uncle Harry,” she said, “but what if I called in any of your other teachers?  Would you think the same then?”

Rory frowned.  “You’re saying that there’s a specific reason for Dad’s stance?  Against the Headteacher?”

Severus nodded.  “And do you know the reason?”

“Something to do with when you were at school, maybe?”

“And?”

Rory looked flummoxed. “I don’t know, the Head got you to do something you didn’t want?”

Severus sat back in his seat, his stare fixed on McGonagall.  “Min?”

She looked stricken.  “You mean to say that you haven’t discussed any of this with him?”

“I didn’t think I would need to.”

McGonagall smoothed her robes.  “I thought you would be best placed-”

“For our children, perhaps,” Hermione quickly jumped in.  “But if they’re not learning it at Hogwarts, then where are the other children getting their information?”

“About what?” Rory said, frowning.

“My comment was about the war,” Severus said, stiffly.  “About part of the role that I played.”

“Yeah, well, we all know you and Mum were war heroes.”

“Your mother was a war hero,” Severus corrected.

Hermione glared at Severus. “He was right the first time.  We both were.”

“Rory,” McGonagall said, waving her hand to silence both Hermione and Severus.  “Would you mind telling me what you think your father did in the war?”

“…kept Uncle Harry safe?”

“And?”

“…fought against Voldemort?”

“And?”

Rory looked helplessly at his parents.

“I rest my case,” Severus said, coolly.  

“I don’t see the need for the Hogwarts curriculum to be a stick for you to beat yourself with, Severus,” McGonagall huffed.

“It’s not about it being a stick,” Severus said, his voice getting louder.  “I haven’t dragged you here to insist on some weird penance I’ve devised!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” McGonagall sniped back.

“This is about my son!”

“Rory is perfectly well adjusted, Severus.”

Severus stood, pushing his chair out from behind him.  “I’m not referring to Rory.”

Rory looked astonished. “Fox?”

“Yes, it’s about Fox!  It’s about that little band of Slytherins that he’s joined up with,” Severus hissed.  “And their frankly misguided views on what the wizarding war was like.”

“Come on, Dad.  They’re hardly Voldemort followers,” Rory laughed.

Severus’ eyebrows raised. “Voldemort followers?”  

“They’re just very pro-Slytherin, that’s all,” Rory continued.  “You’ve got to admit, we hear a lot about Uncle Harry, and Professor Longbottom, and Mum…”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “But you don’t hear about the Slytherin war effort?”

Rory shook his head.  “And we know it existed!  We know it wasn’t just the good old Gryffindors like Mum and Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry.  We know there was Dad, and Reggie Black, and Professor Slughorn, and Narcissa Malf-”

Severus snorted.  “You see, Min?  You see?!  And this is my sensible son!  Horace Slughorn and Narcissa Malfoy.”  He turned back to Rory.  “Are you not aware that Horace Slughorn presided over Slytherin House whilst most of its students became Death Eaters?”

“Death Eaters?”  

“He doesn’t even know...”  Severus trailed off, stalking the room once more.  “This is how it happens, Min.  This absence of information is how I was manipulated.  How I was recruited!”

Hermione stood, and stopped her husband from pacing.  “Severus, this isn’t the time-”

“Dad, what do you mean? Recruited?”

“I was a Death Eater, Rory,” he said, shaking Hermione’s hand from his arm.  “Or, to put it in terms that you will understand, I was one of Voldemort’s loyal followers.”  


	2. Thy Name Is Snape

Hermione burst through the front door, her arms overflowing with parchment.  She cast wordlessly and wandlessly, illuminating the hallway with artificial light and locking the door behind her, and then she placed her papers on top of the shoe cupboard.  “Boys!  I’m home!” she called, frowning at her reflection in the hallway mirror.  She ran her fingers through her hair, and then huffed, giving it up as a lost cause for the evening – only the potion bottle in the bathroom would solve her riotous curls when they were in this state, and although a long hot shower sounded delightful, she knew that Malik’s bedtime would soon be upon her.

“Malik?”  She tugged her high heels off, wriggling her toes before throwing the shoes into the cupboard.  “Malik!” she called again, listening intently for the usual patter of tiny footsteps, but none came.  “Severus?”  Now she moved more quickly through the unlit house, her heart clenching in her chest.  “Severus!”  As she rounded the corner of the dark dining room, she saw the lean shape of her husband leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“Hello you,” he said softly, and despite the shadows, she could just make out the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She grasped the front of his shirt, and bouncing up on the balls of her feet, she pecked his lips.  “Hello to you too.”  She glanced downwards.  “Where’s Malik?”

“In bed.”

“In bed?  Already?  It’s only half past fi-” she stilled as she looked at the clock over her husband’s shoulder.  “Oh.  Oh, it’s really not.  Severus, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Shhhh,” he said, threading his arms around her.  “It’s fine, he’s asleep.”  He shot her another wicked grin.  “Least, he was until his mother slammed the front door and started shouting his name.”

She leant back from him, her eyebrows raised.  “You’re telling me that for the first time in almost three years, you didn’t cast a noise blocking charm around his pillow?”

Severus chuckled, and held his hands up.  “It’s impossible to tease you when you know me so well.”  He moved into the kitchen.  “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.  Are you?”

“You ate at work?”

Hermione nodded.  “And you with Malik?”

Severus sat heavily at the kitchen table.  “Yes, a delightful meal of spaghetti hoops on toast.  Most of which ended up thrown onto my shirt.”  He grinned at her confused look, as she took in his pristine appearance.  “This is my third shirt of the day, of course – lunch was as equally successful.”  He laughed and poured a liberal measure of scotch into his glass.

“Ah.  So, I assume that’s not your first?”

“Guilty as charged.”  He proffered the bottle.  “Are you imbibing?”

She shook her head.  “I have work to do.” 

At this, he raised an eyebrow.  “I thought you’d escaped unscathed,” he murmured, indicating to the absence of any parchment about her person.  “You’ve brought work home every night this month.”

“It’s in the hallway.  I forgot it when I thought you and Malik…”  She trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable, and Severus placed his large warm hand over hers.

“I’ll get them for you.  Anything I can help with?”

“How are you on the topic of Magical Law Enforcement reform?” she called as he strode out of the kitchen.

At that, he turned quickly back to her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.  “Are we putting Potter out of a job?”

* * *

Rory strode down the bottom dungeon corridor, briskly trying each and every classroom and cupboard door as he passed.  All of the doors in the previous five corridors had easily swung open – and apart from a brief muttered apology to Professor Smethwyck for interrupting his evening lesson in Remedial Potions to a group of inattentive third years whilst he was searching the second level of the dungeons, Rory hadn’t seen another soul.

He gripped the next handle and twisted it firmly, expecting it to spring open in much the same way, but this door didn’t cede.  He silently cast an Alohomora at the lock, and steeled himself before pushing the door open.

“Bloody hell!”

“Brilliant!  It’s Rory!”

“All right, Granger?”

Rory looked at the gathering of young Slytherins before him who greeted his entrance with unbridled enthusiasm.  They were from a range of years, from second through to seventh - Terry Fletcher, Wanda Orpington, Brutus Blishwick, Seraphina Cobbin, Jenny Alderton, Pius Hopkins, Jakob Limus, Elphias Fenwick, Milo Killick, Dante Rowle, Rafe Fudge, Vera Bletchley and, he noted with his heart sinking in his chest, the unsmiling face of his fifteen year old brother.

“Fox has talked you round has he, Rory?” Vera grinned, patting the empty chair next to her.  “I didn’t think he’d manage it!”

“Get real.  It’s more likely that he’s come to break up the party,” Fox grumbled, standing and banishing his chair to the back of the room.  “It’s fine, Roars, we’re done.  Nothing to see here.  We’re going.” 

“We’re not done,” Elphias interrupted loudly, tapping his quill against a desk.  “Milo’s just about to present his piece about history being rewritten by the victors-”

“-with particular attention to the malignment of Slytherin House following wizarding war two,” Milo added, keenly.  “What’s got into you, Snape?  We worked together for weeks on this!”

Rory stared in horror at his younger brother, who simply shrugged.

“Well, then I already know what’s in it,” Fox said, heading towards the door and pulling his brother with him.  “Come on Roars.  Let’s leave them to it.”

As soon as they stepped out of the door, Rory rounded on his brother.  Fox, sensing what was coming, hastily cast a muffling charm around them so his peers could not hear their argument seep through the door.

“Snape!  They call you Snape, Foxy!”

“They call me _Fox_!”

“Fine, _Fox_ ,” Rory stopped in front of his brother and grabbed the neck of his robes in his fist.  “Are you going to tell me, _Fox_ , what all that is about?”

“What all what is about?”

“That study session,” Rory spat, “is supposed to be for OWL revision.  That study session is supposed to take place in dungeon three – nobody is supposed to be using the condemned dungeons on this bottom corridor-”

“And what?  If nobody’s here, what harm are we doing?  It’s not like we’re disturbing anyone.”  Fox glared at his older brother.  “We’re hardly blowing the place up.  You heard Milo – he’s just going to give a speech.”

“A speech.  A speech?  That’s what you call it?”

“Yeah, a speech,” Fox challenged.  “We’re just a group of students with likeminded views.”

“Fox, the Headmistress gave you permission to hold study sessions outside of class hours to develop your critical thinking skills.  It is _not_ supposed to be for the veneration of Voldemort!”

Fox tried to wriggle out of his older brother’s grip, but Rory’s hold was unyielding.  “We’re not venerating Voldemort!”

“Then what is it?” Rory challenged.  “Go on, if I dragged you up to Professor McGonagall right now-”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.  And if I did – if I got hold of Milo’s paper that he co-authored with Fox _Snape_ and let her read it, what would you say to her?”

Fox gave a soft laugh, causing Rory to grip his robes ever more tightly.  “Come on, Roars.  This isn’t about the study session, is it?”

The silence hung heavy between them, Rory refusing to acknowledge the question.  Eventually, Fox continued.  “You can use Mum’s name – I’m not stopping you.  The twins can use Mum’s.  Malik can use Mum’s.  _I_ want to use Dad’s.”

“Yeah, well, Dad doesn’t want you using his name.”

“It’s not up to Dad!” Fox yelled, his anger causing his muffling charm to shatter.  “And it’s not up to you!  It’s my life, and if I want to be Fox Snape and not Foxy Granger, that’s my choice!”  He broke free from Rory’s grip, and panting heavily, he stared up at his furious brother.  “I’m not like you, Rory.”

Rory gave a huff of exasperation.  “Yeah, you don’t need to tell me that.”

“No, I guess not.”  Fox sneered at his older brother as he straightened his robes.  “But I do need to tell you this - unlike you, I’m not ashamed of our father.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Rory stricken in the corridor.

* * *

 “Is Malik ok?” she asked, eyes not lifting from the parchment before her.

“Just thirsty,” Severus said, sinking back into his seat.  “Which means that in precisely two hours he will wake me up because he needs to go to the toilet.”  He reached for the bottle of whisky and poured another measure.  “Or, more likely, he won't.” He picked up the glass and inhaled deeply, enjoying the pungent aroma of his favoured alcohol.  “So I might as well stay up, fresh sheets at the ready.”  He glanced at his wife’s papers.  “Anyway, enough of this scintillating topic.  How’s erasing Potter's job coming along?”

“Nearly done,” she said, exhaling loudly.  “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

“It’s fine.” 

She gave him a tired smile.  “It’s really not.”

“No,” he said, getting up to stand behind her and firmly rubbing her shoulders, “it’s really not, but I’m more than used to it.”

She dropped a kiss onto his right hand, and then used her wand to file the spread papers into a neat bundle.  “I’ve had enough.  I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Early start?”

Hermione glanced at the clock.  “There’s an all department meeting at eleven, but nothing pressing before.  I think I could be convinced to go in a little later than usual.”

“Oh yes?”  His voice was deeper now, the fingers of his left hand threading through her hair.  “And just how will the Minister make her excuses for such tardy behaviour?”

She stood and turned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her.  She kissed him fiercely, and then pulled back slightly.  “My husband hasn’t been feeling too well, you see.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” she whispered, kissing her way down his neck.  “He’s burning up.”

“Is he really?”

“Yes.  He’s very, very, _very_ hot.”

He gave a throaty chuckle.  “My word.  And what recuperation does the Minister suggest for her poor, ailing husband?”

“There’s only one cure, I’m afraid.”  She reached behind her and collected his glass of scotch, taking a hearty swig and then passing the rest to her husband.  She watched as he downed the liquid, and then she kissed him again, the warmth from the alcohol spreading through them.

He pulled away, a little breathless.  “And what would that be?”

“Bed rest.”

* * *

Fox pressed his back against the corridor wall, and slowly inched his way towards the dungeons.  Following his fight with Rory, he’d spent the evening sprawled on his front in the Forbidden Forest, collecting all manner of leaves and insects for further inspection.  It was only when Bane had ventured towards him that he’d realised that the moon was up, and with hasty muttered apologies, he’d retreated back to the castle, his treasures shrunken down and carefully stashed in his schoolbag.

His anger had somewhat dissipated from their fight in the early evening, but he knew Rory – he knew that his older brother was probably sat on his empty bed, frowning disapprovingly at his disappearance, and no doubt dreaming up his next horrific punishment.  He still hadn’t forgiven his brother for snitching on him about his less than rapturous congratulations on gaining the post of Head Boy, and was even less forgiving since Rory had deemed to use his newfound powers to make his little brother’s life hell.

Fox desperately wanted to light his wand to help guide his way, but knew that doing so would cause the portraits to burst to life and – knowing his luck – rouse Peeves.  He pressed on, fixing his gaze on the shaft of moonlight at the end of the corridor, completely missing the figure hidden behind the suit of armour to his left, and the smooth motion of a non-verbal casting with a wand.

The tripping jinx sent him flying, and he collided heavily with the armour.  There was a ripple of laughter, and a screeching howl from Mrs Norris as she leapt from the helmet, and clawed at his face in retaliation for waking her.  Fox heard rapid footsteps running in the opposite direction as he batted her away.  Whilst he fought with the mangy cat, Filch hobbled around the corner, and grabbed the neck of Fox’s robes, yanking him upright.

“Out of bed?  Roaming the corridors at midnight?  Pestering my cat, eh?  I’ve got you now, you horrible little-” Filch pulled up short as he dragged Fox into the moonlight.  “…you.”

“I-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Filch said, suddenly.  “There’s no good reason for students to be out of bed at this hour.”  He saw Fox’s mouth open to argue, and he gripped his robes more tightly, before hissing in his ear, “You can think yourself lucky that you’re Professor Snape’s son.”  With that, Filch let go of the boy, and scooped Mrs Norris into his arms.  “Now then, old girl, seeing as there’s no students out of bed this evening, what say you we head back to my rooms…”

Fox stood in the corridor, and watched Filch depart, his legs shaking as he straightened his robes. 

“Didn’t you hear him, boy?” boomed one of the portraits.

“Waking us like this,” another added, “and not being punished.  This place has gone to the dogs!”

“Hush hush!”

“Wouldn’t have happened under Dumbledore!”

“Do you mind?  I’m trying to sleep!”

Fox clamped his hands over his ears to block out the arguing paintings, and sprinted down into the dungeons, glancing warily behind him as he entered the common room.  He dropped his bag onto the floor and placed his hands on his knees, panting heavily.

He didn’t see Rory standing in a darkened corner, until his older brother waved his hand, casting bright illumination across the common room.

“And what time do you call this?”

“Oh, get knotted, Rory,” he spat, falling into an empty chair and slinging a forearm across his eyes to block out the intense light.

“It’s nearly one in the morning.  I don’t know why you think I’ll overloo-” Rory stopped before him, and his gaze softened.  “…Foxy, your cheek.”

Fox swiped at his face with his sleeve, blood spilling onto the garment.  “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.  It’s deep.”  Rory knelt down in front of him, his wand poised in the air.  They both knew that Rory had mastered their dad’s favoured healing spell, and Fox looked at him expectantly.

“Go on then.  I know it stings, but I can hardly go to bed like this.”  He gave a tight smile.  “If I get the pillow all mucky, Mum’ll be on my case, telling me that I’m making extra work for the house-elves.” 

Rory held his position over his brother for a long moment before eventually dropping his wand arm, standing, and roughly grabbing Fox’s shoulder.  “Go to Pomfrey.”

“Gerroff,” Fox said, shrugging out of his grasp.  “I’m not going to the hospital wing to be questioned about how it happened.  Just do the bloody spell.”  He stared at his older brother, a small crease appearing between his eyes as it became apparent that his brother wasn’t going to help him.  “You’re kidding me, right?”  He dabbed at his cheek, blood still coming away on his robes.  “Roars?”

Rory looked at his feet.  “I’ve told you to go to Pomfrey.  That’s an order.”

Fox shook his head, and angrily heaved his bag over his shoulder.  “Thanks for nothing, _Granger_.”

* * *

“Which one?” the Fat Lady asked.

“Don’t care.  Either.”  He paused, and after a moment’s reflection, he knocked on the frame again.

“Yes, yes, yes!  Give me chance!”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Rory said, making sure to flash the Head Boy badge on his robes.  “I want both of them.  Now.”

The Fat Lady sniffed.  “Bossy, aren’t you?  You remind me of your mother – she wasn’t beyond flashing her badge when it suited her either.”  She gave a wicked smile.  “ _And_ you remind me of your father – he stood here one night and-”

“Goldstein!” Rory shouted to a figure in the corridor, turning his back on the portrait.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get my two no-good brothers out of your common room for me?”

“Sure,” Mattias sprinted up the last few steps.  “Fizzing Whizzbees,” he called, pushing his way into Gryffindor Tower.  A few moments later, two identical boys stepped out, matching grins adorning their faces.

“Well well well,” the Fat Lady said, beaming.  “Aren’t you three just peas in a pod?”

“Not likely,” Calvin grinned.

“Have you seen his hair?” Bryce added, throwing his arm around his twin. 

“You look like-”

“-Mum-”

“-only with Dad’s nose,” Calvin added.

“Bad luck, brother!”

Mattias watched with an amused grin.  “They’re like this with you as well, then?”

Rory closed his eyes and sighed.  “Yes, they’re like this with me.  And Mum, and Foxy, and Da…”  He rapidly trailed off, and waved Mattias away.  “They’re like it with everyone.  Mattias, I need to speak with the boys in private for a moment.”

“We haven’t done-”

“-anything,” Calvin finished.

“Come with me to the astronomy tower,” Rory said, indicating that his brothers should follow him.  Bryce looked at Calvin, and the pair shrugged, before flanking their older sibling.

“So, what’s new in the dungeons?”

“Found any snakes yet?”

“Any parseltongues?”

“Spoken to any Basilisks?”

“Murdered any Mu-”

“Calvin!”  Rory turned on his younger brother, his face full of fury.  “How many times have you been told-”

“Woah, it was a joke,” Bryce said, stepping in front of his twin, creating a barrier between him and his oldest brother.  “Bit sensitive, are we?” 

Rory ignored the comment and resumed his stride.  After a long moment, Calvin and Bryce moved to follow, both boys flanking either side of Rory and loping along next to him.  Calvin looked up.  “You want to watch that temper, Rory, don’t you reckon, Bryce?”

“He does, Calv.”

“It’s all that moping around in the cold and the dark that does it.”

“And the wet.”

“Yes, don’t forget the wet.”

“With the snakes.”

“And the Basilisks.”

“You are both about as funny as dragonpox,” Rory hissed, slamming his hand against the stone wall and stopping dead.  “So?  What do you know about Foxy?”

Bryce huffed, and Calvin shook his head – neither boy willing to speak. 

“I’m waiting.  What do you know about last night?”

“Did something happen last night?”

“To Foxy?”

“News to us, isn’t it, Calv?”

“Definitely, Bryce.  Not heard a word.”

Rory absently flicked the silver ring on his middle finger, causing it to spin.  “He came back to the dungeons bleeding.”  He glanced from one boy to the other.  “And neither have you have heard anything?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Not a thing.”

“Not a sausage.”

“Not even a slice of bacon.”

Rory ran his hand through his hair.  “We need to be sticking together, us Grangers.  The four of us-”

Calvin scoffed.  “Look, Head Boy, I’ll lay it out for you:  Foxy is a weirdo.”

“And sometimes he gets what’s coming to him,” Bryce added.

“And if something happened last night-”

“-which we know nothing about-”

“-but even if we did-”

“-we could hardly tell you, could we?”  Bryce shook his head in dismay.  “I thought your lot were supposed to be the cunning ones?”

“Dragging us out of the common room to question us,” Calvin groaned.  “So if we did know anything, we couldn’t tell you.”

“Because if you caught the perpetrators, they’d take it out on us.  For snitching.”  Bryce slung his arm around his twin and turning him back towards the common room.  “Think harder next time, Rory.”

“I thought he was meant to be the clever one, Bryce?” Calvin said, as the pair departed.

“No, the weirdo’s the clever one, remember?  This is the thick Quidditch one.”

“…have they always been like that?”

Rory’s head snapped up as he saw Mattias Goldstein stood behind him.  “You followed us?”

Mattias shrugged.  “I wouldn’t say followed, per se.  It’s a free castle.”  He looked at Rory quizzically.  “They’re right though.  If they tell you what’s going on, they’ll be on the receiving end next time.  …you should’ve asked me.”

Rory considered the fourth year.  “And if I asked you, would you tell?”

“Not today.  Because if I tell you today, everyone will assume that your brothers told you.”  Mattias shook his head.  “They’re right, aren’t they?  The weirdo really is the brains of the operation…” 

* * *

Fox watched as the mediwitch levitated four potions across the bay.

“Four?” he scoffed.  “Are you serious?”

“Such an injury would not have required quite so many,” Pomfrey huffed, “if you had bothered to attend the hospital wing when the incident occurred.”  She gripped his chin and tilted his face to the light.  “If it is infected-”

“How would it get infected?  I went straight to bed.”

Pomfrey tutted.  “I am not oblivious to the state of the Slytherin dormitories.”

“Hey, I keep my sheets clean,” Fox protested.

“I do hope you have higher standards with your bedsheets than you do your clothing,” Pomfrey said, tapping the boy’s robes.  “Your mother and father would have a fit if they saw the state of you.”

“It’s not my fault that I keep getting attacke-”  He caught himself.  “Yeah, sorry.  I’ve got them in a bit of a mess.  I’ll write to Dad and ask him for some more.”

Pomfrey gave him an inscrutable look.  “I trust you will tell him why your robes are irreparably damaged so early in the term, whilst Rory’s are not?”

Fox took the proffered potions and swallowed them in rapid succession.  “All done.  Am I free to go?”  At Pomfrey's silence, he stood, and collected his schoolbag.  "I'll take that as a yes."

“Fox…” 

“What?”

The mediwitch laid a warm hand on his shoulder.  “If anything is troubling you, I can offer you a confidential ear.  I would not speak to your mother, nor your father, nor your brothers-”

“Or McGon-” he stopped at her sharp look.  “ _Professor_ McGonagall?”

“Or Professor McGonagall,” she agreed.  “Not without your permission.  My door is always open, Fox.”

He nodded, and lifted his schoolbag to his shoulder.  He started out of the door, before turning and giving Pomfrey a half wave.  “Thanks, I..."  He stilled, and then nodded again.  "Just, thanks."

* * *

Rory frowned as a Hogwarts owl flew towards him in the Great Hall.  The plump bird dropped three letters next to his plate, and tipped its head.  Quickly, Rory scooped a piece of salmon from his plate and onto his palm.  He blew on it repeatedly and then prodded it with his finger, ensuring it had sufficiently cooled, and then offered it to the owl, stroking the back of the animal's head as it ate.  “Thank you,” he said, softly, wiping his hand on his robes as the bird flew away.

“What's this, what's this?  Evening post, Granger?” Alfie Stent elbowed his best friend in his ribs.  “Only one reason for evening post,” he laughed, turning to Paul Jenkins who was sat on his other side.

The two boys gave each other a knowing smile, and then chorused, “Love letters!”

“They’re not love letters,” Rory groaned, breaking the familiar wax seal on the back of the first envelope.  “See?  It’s just Mum and Dad going on again.  Blah blah blah, look after Foxy, blah blah blah, make sure the twins don’t get into trouble, blah blah blah, don’t bring shame on the family.”  He stuffed the letters into his robes and picked up his pudding.  “I'd better reply.  I’m going to the common room.  See you later.”

In the corridor, he levitated his jelly and ice-cream in front of him, and pulled the letters back out of his robes.  The first _was_ from his father – a hastily scribbled but complicated Arithmancy equation that, now Rory glanced at it carefully, was the root of last week’s failed essay.  Seeing it written plainly before him, it was utterly obvious, which made Rory blush all the more furiously.  How did his father even know that he’d flunked so spectacularly?  He scowled – Professor McGonagall must’ve reported it back to him.  “Well, what do you expect from the thick Quidditch one?” he muttered to himself, screwing the letter up and then setting fire to it for good measure.

The second was from his mother, on Ministry headed paper.  He handled this with more reverence, but a fierce grimace soon covered his face at her words.  His father had been too wrapped up in thinking about Fox to see how his revelation had hurt his eldest son, but Hermione – the much more astute of the pair – could see the damage that had been caused.  There were eight pages of her carefully written prose, and Rory felt a pang of guilt when he thought about the time she’d taken out of her busy schedule to compose such a letter.  _Don’t jump to any conclusions, Rory.  I want us all to sit down and discuss this properly when you're home in the summer – as a family.  Your father is a good man_.

In the summer? Months and months from now? He stopped reading, and shoved the letter into his robes.  Severus Snape wasn’t a good man.  How could he have been, if he’d freely signed up to follow Voldemort?

With a sick feeling, he opened up the third and final letter, which was far thicker than the others – thicker even, than his mother’s.  Occasionally these were from Malik – well, from his father, of course, but with Malik’s crayon scrawl covering the pages – but unless his father had decided to send him a whole colouring book, it wasn’t likely.  Rory investigated the back of the envelope carefully, and he could see it wasn’t their family seal which held it together.  He ripped the pages free of their confines, and on seeing the top line – _I thought this would be of interest_ – he sprinted towards the dungeons – his jelly and ice-cream forgotten, left suspended in the air.

Finally, in the safe cocoon of his four poster bed, he started to read the full papers:   _The Disgraceful Vilification of Slytherin House:  Parts I – X by Milo Killick, Seraphina Cobbin, Dante Rowle and Fox Snape_

It didn’t matter how many times he saw it, his brother’s newly chosen name caused him to clench his jaw.  Rory glanced down the page, not really taking the sentences in, his eyes raking over the document for one thing, and one thing only – his father's name.  Then, nearing the end, he finally saw what he was looking for:  _Part IX:  Professor/Housemaster/Headmaster/Hero - Severus Snape_

Rory’s mouth was set in a grimace as he read avidly, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he read his brother’s – for he was certain that these words were his brother’s – idolisation of their father.  Rory’s chest grew ever tighter as he pored over the pages, a carefully plotted history of their dad’s life, yet with not a single mention of his role as Voldemort's man.  As he reached the end, he flung the pages away from him in disgust.

* * *

“Professor, I’m begging you!  Please tell me-”

McGonagall shook her head.  “I am not prepared to have this discussion with you, Mr Granger.”

“But I need to know about Dad-”

“Your father,” she bristled, “is the person you need to discuss this with.”

“Yeah, well he’s not here!”

There was an uneasy silence, and then McGonagall sighed.  She moved behind her desk, busying herself with straightening papers, and tidying her quills. 

“Is that it?  I’m dismissed again?”  Rory’s fist clenched in his pocket, his thumb rolling over the silver ring he wore on his middle finger.  His _father’s_ silver ring.  He’d always been so proud of it – given to him following the first Slytherin House Cup win he’d been part of, back in his third year – but the thought of wearing something that a loyal Voldemort follower had worn…  _No_ , Rory silently corrected himself, _a_ _Death Eater_ – well, it was enough to turn his stomach.

He stared at the Headmistress, daring her to get involved, but her lips remained firmly shut.  “He’s bottled it, and Mum’s bottled it, and now you’ve bottled it.”

“Mr Grang-”

Decisively, Rory tore the ring off, and slammed it hard onto the desk.  “Tell him this is his.”

Her eyes widened as she recognised the familiar jewellery, with its carefully inscribed runes.  She’d been amazed when she’d first spotted it on Rory’s fingers, and had gently raised the topic with Hermione on a visit to the Ministry.  It wouldn’t have been the first time that a teenager had been a little light-fingered around his parents’ belongings – but her fears were unfounded; the ring had indeed been a gift, from father to son.

“Rory, you do understand the significance of this ring, don’t you?  Albus Dumbledore gave it to your father whe-”

“My father is dead to me.” 

 


End file.
